


You left me a redneck. Thanks, gramp & grannie!

by Mc_Fassy



Series: Armadillo meets Mustang [1]
Category: Real Person Fiction, Vikings RPF
Genre: M/M, cityboy!George, redneck!Travis, tblag - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-13 00:19:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2129916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mc_Fassy/pseuds/Mc_Fassy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George Blagden is a typical city boy through and through and has to live his worst nightmare. His grandparents left him their huge estate on the countryside and now he has to go and take care of it, even if every fibre in his body struggles with the task.<br/>The pension is a ruin and the guests stay away. The only employee left there is Travis Fimmel. a redneck, a shallow bloke who can't take George serious, except for his looks. He starts hitting on him very blatantly and tries to lay him while they're forced to work together to restore the estate, which is in both of their interest.<br/>They both, in time, learn that the other isn't as narrow-minded and obstinate as they thought and things develop in very interesting, unexpected directions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You left me a redneck. Thanks, gramp & grannie!

It was well past midday when he drove onto the small street that led to the little village he had visited so often as a child. He hadn’t been here for almost 10 years now though, not since that incident. George grabbed his sunglasses and shoved them onto his nose when the sun crept out between the clouds once again. He didn’t like the sun, especially not when it shone directly in his face. He didn’t like the countryside either. His apartment in the city was his favourite place in the world, yet here he was, possibly driving through a huge pile of horse shit, telling from the smell.  


“For god’s sake…” he mumbled, as he drove through fields full of cows, corn and other peasant stuff that he had hoped he wouldn’t have to see ever again in real life. He was so far from civilization that his tomtom was useless. George had shut it down when it started to tell him that the road he was using, practically, didn’t even exist. But he had been smart enough to take precautions. With the huge map in his hand he navigated himself through village after village, the distances getting bigger and bigger. He should’ve met up with the lawyer about half an hour ago and he was reminded so when he heard his phone ring. He didn’t even need to check the display to know who it was.  


“Yes, yes, I know, I am late, thank you for reminding me the fourth time but unfortunately I am driving and, by law, Mr Lawyer, forbidden to pick up the phone.” He said to himself while he tried to fold the map in a way that made it possible for him to hold and read it at the same time while driving.  
Finally, after what felt like hours, he made it. The sign clearly said ‘St. Lewis road’. He manoeuvred his car in the small street, which looked more like a path trampled by the feet of homo erectus to George.  


“I lost 8 hours of my life just to get here.” He told himself as he parked the car in a single movement in between an old truck and a vehicle that wasn’t worth the name ‘car’.  
“Welcome to your personal hell.” He muttered to himself as he stared through the windscreen.  


He grabbed his phone, keys and bag and got out of the car. The old man was waving at him enthusiastically with a smile so wide it seemed too cross the burdens of his face.  
“Hidey Ho, Mr. Blagden!” he greeted from afar. George felt like throwing up, but he forced a smile and walked up to the man to shake his hand. “I’ve been waiting for you. Did you have problems finding the way? I know, it’s a little off the beaten track…”  
Why me, he thought, swallowing a sarcastic comment.  
“Oh, yeah, quite. Thanks for your patience.” He heard himself say and felt like looking through a stranger’s eyes. He avoided looking at the huge house at the end of the little path that started from the road. Enclosed by an old wooden fence lay his inheritance. The pure sight of it made his insides twist and turn (or maybe it was the four cups of coffee he had consumed on his way).  


“Ah, isn’t it beautiful.” The old man raved. His name was Thompson.  
Instead of an answer, George made a sour face and opened the fence gate. Crossing this line felt like walking right into his worst nightmare. If only Mr Thompson knew what his real thoughts about his grandparents’ heritage was. If it wasn’t for the money, George would have burned that thing down to the grounds.  
“Well, then, let us begin.” Mr Thompson said and closed the gate as he followed him. The sun was burning George’s sensitive, pale skin. “Did you know your grandparents were very much admired by the village? They were responsible for pretty much our only tourism here.” He explained. As if George didn’t knew. Firstly, he had done his homework, he knew what he was here for. Secondly, he had been here often enough to remember.  
“Yes, my grandparents were nice people, I know. I used to visit them often when I was a child.” He said, hoping to shut Mr Thompson’s mouth.  
“Oh, you have actually been here? Did you like it?” he asked with a smile on his face. 10 metres to the front door.  
“Not for 10 years.”  


Finally. Silence. Maybe the tone in which George had said it had made him understand how much he didn’t want to be here after all. The lawyer looked as if he had been forced to eat a tapeworm. _‘Quite possible from what I’ve seen so far.’_ He thought with a weird traction in his stomach. George took the three steps of the veranda and waited for Mr Thompron to unlock the door, but he made no attempt.  


“Oh, we don’t lock our doors here. We’re a small village with a few hundred residents. We trust each other.” He said with a proud grin.  
‘Naïve peasant’ George thought and opened the door. If he had thought the house looked dirty and shabby from the outside, it was a fucking ruin from the inside. The lawyer sighed and scratched the back of his neck.  


“It used to be so lovely here. It’s a shame your grandparents had to abandon it when they… yeah, you know.”  
“When they were too old to work.” George ended the sentence. For god’s sake, his parent’s had been old, far over 80, no reason to deny that they both died of dotage.  
“It was a sad day when they both had to leave. They left the guesthouse and the animals in the hands of their staff, who was eager to keep it all running, you know. But times change” A dramatic sigh. “The number of guests decreased and one employee after another had to leave because there simply wasn’t enough money anymore to pay them.”  
George took a look around. This mess couldn’t be explained by the missing employees only. There were empty bottles of Whisky in every corner, plastic bags, half emptied crisps packages, used plates, smashed furniture. He got the strange feeling that he hadn’t seen the end of it yet. Mr Thompson seemed to feel George’s scepticism. But it seemed it was an unpleasant thing to explain.  


“Well, there is one employee left.” He said with a suffering expression. George raised his eyebrow.  
“Not a very reliable, hard working person, as it seems.” He said dreadfully.  
“It’s… complicated. I think he best explains it to you himself. Who am I to judge.”  
 _‘Indeed, who are you to judge. But I am and this is a godforsaken ruin.’_ He thought angrily. How could a lawyer present him his heritage in this condition? Obviously this one left employee wasn’t the only one who didn’t do his job properly. The fear that he had to build this house up again was present again.  
“Do you want me to show you the house?” Thompson asked and watched him anxiously.  
“No, thanks. I’ve seen enough. I know the place.” He said with a bitter voice.  


“Fine. Uhm… then my last task is to introduce you to your employee, but first let me show you your rooms.”  
George didn’t waste his breath on such unnecessary small talk and followed him through the hallway. They went upstairs into the first floor and turned right then.  
“These are the rooms your grandparents used privately.” He said, as he pushed open the door. It revealed a big bedroom.  


“This is yo-“ Thompson stopped in the middle of his sentence. And when George took a step forward, he saw why. On the bed, his future bed, lay a man. Entangled with the blanket. Naked. His bare backside was exposed to their very eyes. George’s mouth fell open. The man was still sleeping at 4 in the afternoon. Sleeping in his grandparents’ bed.  
Only then George heard the shower and a voice from the bathroom. Seconds later the door opened and a woman came out, lazily wrapping a towel around her body. When she raised her head, a pitched high scream filled the air and the clung to her towel. The man on the bed moved.  


“For fuck’s sake, why are you screaming? Is it a spider? Just squish it with your foot.” He mumbled sleepily without opening his eyes.  
“Eeew, a spider??” said a second, female voice from the bathroom. When the second woman came out, she screamed as well and hid behind the first.  
“Shut the fuck up!” moaned the man, still not bothering to turn his head and face them.  
“Uhm,Travis… I think you better wake up. You got a problem.”  
“Let me sleep and piss off!” he yelled without moving.  


George mouth was still open. Luckily, Mr Thompson found back his language.  
“Mr Fimmel, you should better get up and, please, for god’s sake, put on PANTS!” he bellowed. He seemed to know the voice, because now Travis moved and sat up. He had the nerve to yawn and rub his eyes with both hands before he looked at them.  
Thompson seemed to be used to this, but George wasn’t. He felt the heat in his cheeks and a strange rumble in his belly. Thompson sighed and watched him apologetically.  


“May I introduce you to your employee, Travis Fimmel.”


End file.
